


New Lands

by thescrewtapedemos



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 00:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10843143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/pseuds/thescrewtapedemos
Summary: Nasir reclaiming what's his, because now he is free to do so.





	New Lands

**Author's Note:**

> cheers to a shit year, 2016. written in feb and only now posted bc like? who i am as a person. 
> 
> enjoy!! xoxo

Nasir lays Agron down on dust and dirt because it is all they have. 

It’s precious little to have but Nasir has possessed less. Been possessed, a possession, and to own his own rest and his beloved is sufficient to the extreme. Besides, they have cloak for cushion and a tent to shield them from sight and it’s more than they’ve been accustomed to in recent days. 

The fear is gone, as well. They are free. Free as their beloved leader is free, free as all of them are. Those gone on to further fields and those still living alike, they know freedom now. 

Nasir breathes in and cherishes the breath. 

Agron makes no noise of pain in shifting his position, attempting to find his knees to bring them of a footing, but Nasir knows that the wounds that pierce his hands must scream in agony. He presses hand to Agron’s shoulder to prevent his rise and Agron halts obediently. 

There is something lost in his gaze, when he meets Nasir’s eyes. A gazelle, wounded and proud and terrified of the unknown that now surrounds it. 

Nasir shakes such thoughts from his head. He has never been a poet. The details of fine comparison elude him. It matters little. 

Nasir’s hands cup Agron’s face and it’s hardly a strange touch but it feels anew. Feels like the first time Agron’s hand had found skin, though guided now by thorough experience. All their touches have rung same since Agron had been returned to him, lit with desperate gratitude to the gods and men that guided their reunion. 

A man like a god, a man afire with the light of legend and glory. A man that will stand over centuries as a monolith. Nasir has spat the name from his tongue as had been the final wish but it lingers a scar in his heart and will, he suspects, forever. 

Spartacus. 

Agron opens his mouth to Nasir’s kiss readily. Weak, trembling fingers catch at his hair, tangle in the length of the strands. He is so weak, with wound and loss. Weak but proud and glorious and beautiful, a marvelous ruined wonder. Nasir feels the sear of love in his heart and wonders at that too. 

There is loss yawning in him. He can feel it, the companions fallen to battle and their beloved, godlike leader fallen to legend. It’s a hole never to be filled, only felt and healed and respected. As deep and wide as it gapes in him he thinks it must be all the wider in Agron. 

Agron has lost so much. A brother by blood and so many brothers by arms. It must yawn in him and the succor of freedom, Nasir knows, is bittersweet at times. 

He hopes he will be enough to bridge the void. To render meaning to a life lived thus far by sword and the railing of hopeless bravery against impossible odds. He has hope. It is enough. 

It is more than enough. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against Agron’s mouth and the sound that cracks from his beloved’s chest is relief and worship by equal measures. His arms circle Nasir’s shoulders and pull them bodily together. 

He’s warm, hot with the exertion of days and his healing. His body moves beneath Nasir and it’s a reassurance balm to sore wounds Nasir has grown so accustomed to that they’d fallen from notice. They are together. Agron is safe again. 

Agron rocks his hips against Nasir’s. There is firmness there, Nasir notes with a wash of levity almost alien to him. Not hardness yet, but an attempt to be so. An attempt he could facilitate, he thinks and smiles. 

“You feel well enough for this?” he asks, a moment of serious concern. Agron moves to pull away and Nasir lets him retreat to half an arm’s length. The pallor of Agron’s face, so recently settled, has been routed by the heat of pink blush. 

“I would have you,” Agron mutters. “Inside me. I would feel close to you again. If it tempts you.” 

He looks displeased to have to give such things voice. Nasir laughs and dips to brush lips together again, thrilling at the soft touch and the taste of Agron again on his lips. 

“You count yourself blessed to be attended to by one so resourceful as I,” he boasts and twists in Agron’s weak hands to reach for his pack. He extracts the tiny jar with care. He can hardly believe the pottery has survived but it has, and he sends prayers to heavens with a tinge of sarcasm that trespasses on the blasphemous. 

The thought occurs to him that there is some comparison here. Delicate pottery surviving when so little else has. He leaves it from thought in favor of opening the stopper and wafting scent of rich oil to Agron. 

“I am lucky indeed,” Agron breathes and his eyes are stars when Nasir meets them. They strip the artifice from him and for a moment he stands humbled in the light of their combined luck. The weight of chance necessary to be in this moment. 

“Indeed,” he murmurs and settles back against Agron’s chest. “I would be gentle, if it runs parallel with your desire.” 

“It’s permitted,” Agron mumbles. His face is flaming and Nasir dips to press lips to cheek, to feel such vital life against his own skin. 

Agron lets him go when he sits up again, parts his legs easily. He tents his loincloth, still not quite hard but closer to the mark this time. He arches to Nasir’s touch when he runs palm over the heat of him and Nasir watches the flex of muscle in his body with the heat he’d felt since the moment of meeting him. Acknowledgement of attraction, of the desire to touch and taste and covet. 

Nasir divests him of garment quickly, with little fanfare. Agron’s cock stands proud, at last nearly hard, and Nasir breathes in without thought. He is beautiful, masculine ideal, and the hunger that fills him suddenly is welcome and earthly. He loves and desires Agron, yearns to please him and to draw pleasure from him. 

His own cock has taken interest and it hurries him, the distant pulse of want drawing nearer and more insistent with every moment. It’s work of a heartbeat to throw his own clothing and armor aside, laying himself bare to Agron’s gaze without shame. His own manhood measures to Agron’s about the same, perhaps a little smaller, perhaps a little thicker. It matters little. 

“Yes,” Agron murmurs and reaches for him with a hand that trembles in the air. Nasir leans forward and lets it take rest cupping his cheek. 

They stay thus for a moment and then Agron’s hand drops away and Nasir readjust position, close enough to lay worship to Agron’s stomach and thighs but far enough down for his wrist to have reasonable angle in preparing him. 

Agron takes a single finger with ease. 

He wonders at the trust this must imply, Agron allowing himself to open most intimately to him. It overwhelms and Nasir dips instead of addressing it, takes Agron’s cock in his mouth and sucks gently, works his finger in matching rhythm until Agron’s hips rock gently into his mouth and the noises that spill from over Nasir’s head are worship and grunting praise. 

He tastes of salt and skin and life and he fills Nasir’s mouth so that his cock throbs, and he wonders briefly if he wouldn’t prefer to take Agron into himself instead. He imagines it, the exhausted pain of his thighs lifting him to ride Agron’s cock, the thickness in him, the fullness of it. The hot splash of Agron’s seed within them, tying them together. 

Agron moans above him and gentle, shaking fingers run through his hair and the thought falls from him. He wants to care for Agron, to deliver asked for respite, to fill him and join them together. His cock aches at the thought. 

He takes mouth from cock and licks sore lips for a moment, stares up heaving chest to Agron, staring back. 

“Another?” he asks quietly. Agron nods, rapid and needing. 

He takes the second finger with only slightly less ease than the first, a drizzle of oil and a moment to adjust and Nasir’s fingers sink into the velvet heat of him so easily. It steals breath and he brings his mouth back to the base of Agron’s dick, mouths there. Rocks his fingers into him counter the roll of Agron’s hips. 

His own cock is against cold ground, shielded by the fold of a cloak. He presses down anyway, searching for relief and the brief spark of pleasure. 

Agron’s voice rises over his head, slow and then a sudden flood as Nasir finds the place within him that creates stars behind the eyes. Blasphemy and prayer and praise in measure, volume lifting as Nasir works his fingers all the harder. 

Time passes that Nasir pays no mind to, licks his way up shaft to mouth at the head of Agron’s cock and tries to keep his fingers to a rhythm. Spreads them wider when Agron’s body accommodates. Rocks his own hips against the ground and tries to keep himself from the edge of climax; it would serve ill if he were to come too quickly. 

Shaking fingers catch in his hair again. They cannot grip still but they clutch and the intention is clear so Nasir lifts mouth from cock to meet Agron’s gaze. 

He’s beautiful like this. Wet with sweat, dark-eyed with want. Flushed and heaving for breath, muscles working fitfully in effort to contain his noise from the rest of camp. Nasir’s tongue leaves mouth to wet his lips without his leave and he doesn’t miss that Agron’s gaze flickers with it. 

“I would have you,” Agron says and his voice is hoarse. 

“Another finger?” Nasir asks and goes to withdraw his fingers. 

Agron’s hand in his hair stops him, tugging gently again. Nasir looks back up and Agron’s eyes are closed now, cheeks brought to flame. 

“I would have you,” he repeats, heavy with emphasis. His eyes slit open, glittering and dark. “I would feel you inside me, and feel you later as well.” 

“Shit,” Nasir says eloquently and then twists to press a desperate kiss to the inside of Agron’s wrist. “You’re sure? It will hurt, I would have you be comfortable-,” 

“Go slow, then,” Agron says. His expression is stone, determination. Hot desire painted across his cheeks and in the throb of Nasir’s cock. “Please, Nasir.” 

Nasir curses and withdraws his hand with desperate care. Slicks himself with the remaining oil and settles over Agron’s body. Agron’s arms return to his waist, wrap around him and press their bodies so close together there is barely space to breathe, so Nasir’s cock rests in the crook of his thigh. He can smell them; old blood and metal, the scent of battle. Sweat and the musk of arousal, the scent of them and their joining, washing war from the air around them. 

Nasir dips to breathe in the hollow of Agron’s throat. Lays a kiss to slick skin there. 

“You are ready?” he asks, lips brushing Agron’s chest. Agron nods. The click of his sharp swallow is audible to Nasir’s ear. 

Nasir guides himself to Agron’s entrance, and for a moment lifts his head to meet Agron’s gaze. It seems important, somehow, to see him as Nasir enters him. To meet his eyes and watch the play of pleasure and pain and emotion, to guide himself with it. The first press of Nasir’s cock to his entrance and Agron’s eyes flutter shut and Nasir groans with it, with the slickness of oil between them, the heat of Agron’s hole. 

Nasir rolls his hips and breaches Agron in a gentle, relentless motion and Agron’s voice pierces the quiet. A deep groan, thankful and worshipful and pained and gorgeous, a sound that makes Nasir’s cock throb in warning that he’s about to come too quickly. 

It’s impossibly difficult to prevent himself from sheathing in Agron in a motion and letting climax overtake him. He stops himself anyway, holds himself with a bare inch inside Agron, muscles shaking with the effort of allowing Agron to adjust to him. He’s tight and hot, trembling at Nasir’s touch, soft noises spilling from his mouth. 

Nasir waits. Holds himself still and watches Agron heave for breath, work to open himself to Nasir, adjusting to the fullness. It happens quickly but the time still stretches unbearably, the desire in Nasir to fuck into him and seat himself fully a dark temptation. He resists. 

Eventually Agron reaches for him, a wrist hooking around the back of his neck, pulling gently. It’s a signal and Nasir takes it, rocks gently forward again and presses slowly in and in and in. He doesn’t stop again and Agron doesn’t ask him to, takes it deeper and deeper with gasping noises that feed the roaring need in Nasir’s gut. He needs to fill Agron, to fuck him and join with him and move together like this. 

He seats himself with a noise that tears from him with no permission. 

Agron lies still beneath him for a moment, only heaving breathing giving away that he still lives. Nasir bends with difficulty, fighting the desire to withdraw and slam home in him again, and lays a gentle kiss to his ear. Pauses there for a moment more, until Agron’s hand finds his hip again and nudges it weakly with a bandaged palm. 

“Please,” he says and his voice is broken, a plea that Nasir hears so seldom in his voice in times that are not this. 

Nasir obeys. Pulls back with slowness that burns and thrusts in with brutal force. His body strains with it, with how good it feels to fuck the slick tight heat of him, to let himself go and claim the body underneath him as his beloved once again. 

Agron cries out with it and then settles into the rhythm, clutches Nasir’s back, thighs clenching Nasir’s waist. Rocks back against the thrusts with abandon. Moans encouragement at every change of angle until Nasir sets his knees against the dirt, hefts Agron’s thighs higher around his waist and fucks in even deeper. 

Agron’s whole body jolts, back arching, suddenly unbearably tight around him. He cries out with it in turn, can’t restrain himself from a wild thrust. Agron tightens further, moaning, and then they’re moving like animals. Rhythmless, wild, pleasure and closeness, open mouths meeting in teeth and tongue and exchanged breath. Grinding together, a bare moment to pull away for breath and then meeting again. 

Nasir remembers himself enough to bring his hand to Agron’s cock. It’s wet with precome already and leaking more, hot and velvet soft and unbearably hard in his hand. It twitches when Nasir wraps his hand around it and he can’t manage a rhythm with it but he manages something, slow and uneven compared to the wildness of his thrusts. 

His warning is Agron’s breath against his mouth, his head falling back against the cloak, back arching so that Nasir thinks he body could break, so tight suddenly that Nasir’s vision fails. It’s a fluttering, pulsing pressure around his cock and he understands only with the first rush of hot wetness splashes his stomach. 

Agron’s come slicks the slide of their bodies together. A sensation he only dimly remembers, made new and all the more so with it. 

He lasts another handful of thrusts. He’s been close from the beginning, from the first motion to breach Agron. Distantly he’s amazed he’s lasted at all, that he hadn’t come well before this, but the thought is washed away in the dim realization he’s a breath from coming. 

He bites down on Agron’s shoulder as he does. Presses his teeth in enough to hurt but far from enough to break skin, so that Agron groans in his ear as Nasir fucks him through his climax until his muscles are loose and tremble with exhaustion and his cock hurts with the sensation. 

He doesn’t want to stop. He wants to continue forever, to be joined with Agron like this until the world falls to ruin. 

Agron refuses to let him go, allows him not an arm’s length away in order to pull free. He says nothing but his hands won’t leave Nasir’s skin and that speaks loud enough. They settle together, pull spare cloak over their sweat-wetted bodies and breathe. 

“We are free,” Nasir says and he means that there is a whole lifetime ahead of them, night after night like this. Happiness and peace. An end to war. 

“We are,” Agron agrees and Nasir sees in his gaze an acceptance of it.


End file.
